A/N: This is the last of my happy work… give it a nice encore, will ya? It is sadly neglected! Also, please know that I wrote this in seventh grade, and I directly transferred it onto the computer, without making any of the changes I would have liked to make. Maybe I'll repost it sometime in the future, revised. For now, enjoy the last happy thing I ever wrote!

The beetles swept the clearing between the grasses with their mole-hair brooms, murmuring in their breathy voices expectantly. The musicians rehearsed one last time before dispersing to change and prepare, with the double motive of fleeing to conductor as he tried to stop himself from snapping his baton in the face of the band's hopelessness. The cook-mice and the tailor-moles worked feverishly to finish their respective jobs in time.

In the kitchens, amidst the pots and pans rattling, the fires hissing, and the steam boiling up off the food, the cooks shouted gossip at each other as the apprentices toiled to belay their weight and move quickly.

"Have you seen the Duchess of Buttercups' dress? All yellow and gold and my friend Mrs. Brownbush sewed the whole thing!"

"You think that's grand? Then you have no taste in clothes whatsoever! Now the Countess of Lilies, her dress is beautiful! It's white gold, ivory silk, and gray lace so fine it's like a puff of mist. That I would wear to a ball of this magnitude. And my friend Miss Hankermound can out-sew your Mrs. Brownbush any day!"

"Both of you are wrong! The Queen of Roses has the best dress ever. She has a new one for every occasion, and a new seamstress too! Boy, this year it's a looker! It's all the colors of any flower imagined, and the colors change whenever she moves. It's so lovely, it's like she's wearing a rainbow of flowers!"

Everyone in the room sighed, wishing for the upmillionth time that they had the queen's dress. As the cook mice cooked, the dust beetles cleaned and the tailor moles sewed. Finally, the last dessert was cooked, the last corner dusted, and the last buttonhole sewed. The assistants cleaned like lightning – finally forgetting that they were, in fact, fat and not at all in shape – then followed their masters to dress and change.

The small creatures began to tune their tiny instruments, and the pasture was awash with the soft, ephemeral, magical light of the new moon.

Night had fallen a star ago, and guests were still arriving. The court of the Queen and the visiting royalty were engaged in muted conversation, eating, or dancing. Despite the disharmony of the final practice, the orchestra played beautifully, and the conductor sighed silently, glad that he hadn't snapped his baton after all. Suddenly, all the floating fireflies flared, went out, and flared again. Slowly, silence fell. When it was complete, a bright beam of light lit up the sky. Guest and servants alike oohed and aahed at the display.

For slowly, majestically, the Queen of Roses, Monarch of all flowers, was fluttering down the beam of light, the highway of brightness, her wings barely a blur of soft light. Her dress was exactly as the cook had described it, with a swooping neckline, long sleeves trailing almost down to her feet, and the hem gave way to a short train that accented her height and slim build. Her long brown-blonde hair was brushed to a silky shine, and was left loose with only a few braids tying it back away from her face. It floated around her like a protective cloud, and accented her pale ivory skin and the soft blush on her cheeks. Fireflies flocked around her, weaving a complex dance around her face and lighting it with a golden glow. Some had a sneaking suspicion that there would be baby fireflies before too long after that dance. The Queen had arrived. The Ball could begin.

E/N: SO, what did you think? On a scale of one to ten, how "happy" would you rate this (one being "morbidly depressing", ten being "hyperactively happy")?

The author would like to thank you for your continued support. Your review has been posted.